The novels of Leonard Merrick go a long way in reconciling us to the
constitutional establishment of the single standard of morals proposed
by William Jennings Bryan. Merrick's world is a hard one for women. His
men starve romantically in a pretty poverty. Their dingy haunts are of
the gayest. Bad luck only adds to their merriment. So it is, too, with
the Kikis and Mignons, but Merrick's good women are of much more fragile
stuff. Although invariably English, they grow pale and woebegone just as
easily in London as in Paris. The author never gives them any fun at
all. A harsh word makes them tremble, but they fear kindness even more.
When they are not starving they are fluttering confoundedly because
somebody has spoken to them.
With half of _When Love Flies Out o' the Window_ behind us, we are
entirely out of patience with Meenie Weston. There is no denying, of
course, that Meenie had a hard time. Well-paid singing teachers told her
that she possessed a great voice, but when her father died she found
that the best she could do was an engagement in the chorus, and not
always that.
After months without work she signed a contract to sing in what she
supposed was a Parisian concert hall, but it turned out to be a dingy
cabaret. Worse than that, Miss Weston found that between songs she was
supposed to sit at a table and let chance patrons buy her food and
drink. It was not much of a job and Miss Weston refused to mingle with
the audience. Then one night the villainous proprietor locked her out of
her dressing room and she was forced to venture down among the
customers.
Up to this point our sympathies were generally with the heroine, except
at the point, back in London, where the author recorded, "Miss Joyce
proposed that they should 'drink luck' to the undertaking and have 'a
glass of port wine.' The girl (our heroine) had been in the chorus too
long to be startled by the suggestion--"
It seemed to us that there was nothing particularly horrifying in the
suggestion, even if it had been made to a young lady who had never been
on the stage. Despite this clue to Miss Weston's character, we were
disappointed and surprised at her conduct in the Paris cabaret. She sat
first with her one friend in the establishment, who was a kindly but
hardened cabaret singer. She did her best for Meenie, but she did not
understand her. "That any girl could tremble at the idea of talking to
strangers across a table and imbibing beer at their expense was beyond
her comprehension."
Our sympathy lay with the cabaret veteran rather than with Meenie. Of
course, we did not expect Miss Weston to enjoy her predicament, but
when a man asked her, "Are you going to sing 'As Once in May' to-night?"
we could not quite see why Mr. Merrick found it necessary to report the
fact that:
"She started, and the man told himself that he had really stumbled on a
singular study.
"'Yes,' she faltered."
To us it seemed a simple question simply put. After all, it was
fortunate that the young man did not begin with "Will you have a drink?"
Brutal and insulting language of that sort would certainly have sent
Meenie straight into hysterics. Even when the young man dropped in the
next night there seemed to be nothing in his conversation to alarm our
heroine excessively, but Merrick is wedded to the notion that virtue in
a woman is a sort of panic. A good name, he seems to believe, is
something which a woman carries tightly clasped in both arms like a bowl
of goldfish. To stumble would be almost as fatal as to fall.
"I came to talk to you again, if you'll let me," said the young man.
"You know very well that I can't help it," our heroine answered. This
was not polite, but at least it had a more engaging quality of boldness
than anything she had said before. But soon she was fluttering again.
"Oh, you have only to say I'm a nuisance! I assure you that if you'd
rather I left you alone I won't speak another word," continued the young
man. This seemed reassuring enough, but it has a devastating effect
upon our heroine, for we find that "Her mouth twitched, and she looked
at the ground."
Eventually she and the young man were married. He had spoken to her
without an introduction, and he was enough of a gentleman to realize
that he must right the wrong and make an honest woman of her.
Although we have not yet finished the book, we rather suspect that they
will not be very happy. Merrick's good women never are. They all suffer
terrifically just because they lack the ability to bulwark their virtue
behind a couple of snappy comebacks, such as, "Where do you get that
stuff?" or, "How do you get that way?"